


Waiting for Something You Don't Know

by Dark_Writer



Category: Glee, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, F/F, Gen, Gen Work, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Writer/pseuds/Dark_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Fabray through the years of her magical education.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for Something You Don't Know

They had originally bonded over being foreign students at an overly British boarding school. Santana’s family had just migrated from somewhere in Spain’s Almería Province and she was one of the first-years selected for the new Beauxbatons-Hogwarts exchange program.

As time passed, it extended into the difficulties that stemmed from being related to former Death Eaters. Her cousin Draco was not as bad as Uncle Lucius had been but Santana’s relatives, while no one of great worth within Voldemort’s inner circle despite their wealth, had been a vicious lot that favoured Muggle methods of torture. They would often swap stories of Dark magic and black whispers, holding each other to the same standards of secrecy with which the Death Eaters had held each other, vowing never to let another soul into their sanctum.

Only, there was always one other who had had the power to invade their private space. Santana hated her, hated everything that she represented, a member of the Light’s faction that had often helped to make her life hell at school. She would always rant about that “uppity little Gryffindor who just won’t understand the meaning of fuck off” whenever the day ended and they snuck off to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

She never said anything, never mentioned the way her heart would soften whenever the girl was around or how she would suddenly become so nervous that she forgot anything and everything for the briefest of moments. How could she when Santana was her friend, the only person in that great big bloody castle who understood what being the outsider was really like?

Instead, she would just smile and nod at whatever Santana would say, rarely commenting herself, save for the occasional half-hearted insult that did not really mean anything. If Santana noticed, she never did say anything. Instead, she would continue on, steadily growing less vehement about her maliciousness as time passed and drowsiness took over.

It was just how things were between them and she hated that it would eventually end.

* * *

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, her forehead touching Santana’s as they leaned close to whisper. “I want to stay here. The other girls at school won’t like me as much.”

“What’s not to like? You’re pretty and you’re smart and you’re cool.”

She shook her head, breaking away for a moment to respond to her tutor in rapid French before turning back to Santana. Her eyes watered as she took in her friend, her crazy beautiful friend who was to stay behind at Hogwarts while she was forced to return to Beauxbatons. It had only been a term and a half, but already it felt like they had known each other a long time and she did not want to give that up just yet.

“Come with me, then. I need you, S.”

“No, you don’t, not really. You’ll be fine, I promise. Besides, didn’t we agree to write to each other? I’ll send Artemis every week if I have to. I promise, I won’t let you be lonely anymore.”

That would have to suffice and, for a while, it did. If only she had known then how much things would change.

* * *

Her return to France that first summer was met with too little celebration and too much reprimand as her parents found any and every little flaw that had seeped into her being when she was in Britain. Snide remarks made under breaths tainted by expensive whiskey would always haunt her in her father’s wake long after he had let the room. Her mother’s pitying stares taunted her at night and even her sister’s affections were lost.

It was as if she had stepped back into Cousin Draco’s home during that brief Easter stay, watching and listening as paintings of Malfoys past berated him for his associations with Potter, Granger and the Weasley clan. She remembered all too clearly the way his shoulders would slump and how little he spoke whenever they were inside.

The only time she _could_ remember him speaking was when he gave her brief flying lessons in his mother’s garden amidst the blissfully silent flowers. It was only then, when he was free of his blood’s curse, that he would speak, his expression animated and lively as he showed her how to hold her broom or instructed her in its care.

Her broom…

It was a gift from a Malfoy to a Fabray, a silent acknowledgement of the burden they both shared, the expectations placed upon bodies too young to understand. He had handled it incorrectly but she, she would not become what he had been. He had promised her that.

She never understood what he meant by that, only knew that Draco had been a stereotype of his house and then a Death Eater, but she would always listen to him patiently, attentively. He was the only surviving cousin she had left and, unlike her sister, her father, her mother, he cared.

At home, she missed him dearly. She missed his quiet smiles reserved solely for her, the private Draco Malfoy that the world had never seen open to her and only her. He had been arrogant, or so he had told her, but with her he had been the closest thing to a brother she had ever had and it hurt to be so lonely in the here and now that her life in France was.

Still, he would write her daily, his letters the highlight of her day just as Santana’s were the best part of her week. She hoarded them, a secret communication that only she was privy to, Draco’s enchantments meant to protect her secrets from her parents who would not hesitate to punish her if only they knew.

Santana’s letters, she treasured as much as his, a saving grace that kept her grounded in the storm that was her home life. She would never admit it out loud but it felt nice to have a friend, to have someone who was in her corner and hers alone. They were the best of the few things that made that first summer bearable and for that alone she would be forever grateful to the other girl.

* * *

In her second year, she retreated into herself once more, hiding behind the stacks of Beauxbatons’ second library when other girls would be out of doors, playing and laughing amidst the sunlight and the cool wind. It was something she longed to do but years of silence and isolation broken only for criticism had formed her into what she was and she could not change that, no matter how much she would try.

She did not mind though, not there at Beauxbatons where she could at least escape for great lengths of time. The books comforted her in Santana’s absence, the scent of parchment and ink embedding itself into her psyche until it became something that would immediately calm her down in later years when she suspected that she needed it most.

It was more than that, though. The words spoke to her in a way that no human voice ever could and she found herself drawn more and more to that airy, circular room the longer she was at Beauxbatons. Her fingers would brush against old cracked spines and she would find herself craving the knowledge that hid behind those fragile covers, craving the escape they offered more and more with each passing day.

Her cousin would laugh when he heard that, she knew, but he would not laugh at her. Rather, he would seem to recall someone else who felt a similar pull, Granger she thought he had said her name was, thinking of her with fond exasperation and guilt.

Her lips curled one bright morning in November as she read through his latest letter, kept safe beside Santana’s in her bag until she had arrived at her sanctuary. Draco had been forced to work with Granger and he had been sending her letters about his work almost daily now. They were mostly anecdotes cursing the lot of them at the Ministry for assuming that he would refuse to work with the woman because of her blood status. He was still uncomfortable, he said, but he was no fool.

Sadly, these letters would be the best part of a school year spent in isolation, much as they had been for her summer at a home that had never seemed that way. Too many taunts, too much exclusion, pranks gone too far would break her and the girl she was at the start of the year would cease to exist by its end.

* * *

Her third year would see her re-emergence as someone new, someone cold and calculated, as ruthless as a Fabray with Malfoy blood could be. She would walk the halls with her cousin’s old arrogance, tempered only by the parts of herself that she could not hide behind it. She would win friends regardless of their blood, knowing better than Draco did at that age that Muggle-borns were just as good, sometimes better than Purebloods and determined to use it to her advantage.

It was the beginning of a new era, one in which Draco wanted no part and yet would still offer her advice on what to do and how to act. Strangely, Granger became a fixture in her life at this time, her handwriting as familiar now as Draco’s as they interacted, allowing that small piece of her that returned to lie dormant rather than disappear.

It was a new beginning for Quinn Fabray, a combination of vengeance and dominion as she made her way to the top order in school. She had wanted this for so long and now, at the end of her third year, she had it.

That move would finally earn her parents’ approval and Quinn basked in it for a short time, happy that, finally, something good was happening to her. She did not know how long it would last nor did she care. All that was important was that they stopped being disappointed in her.

* * *

Fourth year.

Fifth year.

They both passed her by in a monotony she was surprised to find herself falling into. Socialisation was tedious but she forced herself into it, knowing that her connections made now would benefit her later.

Yet, she still found herself seeking the sanctuary that the library offered from time to time, wanting and needing to get away from everything and everyone. During those hours she studied, wrote, read. It did not matter what it was, words were her refuge.

Draco still wrote her letters during this time, missives filled with sympathy for her situation and warnings left unheeded as time passed. Santana’s letters, however, faded from weekly updates to occasional thoughts.

She understood, though. They had grown up too fast too soon, family pressure too much to stay strong under until something had to give way and it was this that separated them. She never knew now what Santana was up to, only that the girl was much happier than she was and she resented that a little.

Why should Santana alone have the happiness that she was denied? The novelty of new Quinn had worn off for her family and every day was a struggle to find something new with which to please them. Santana, however, seemed to find that niche between making the Lopez family proud and her own pleasure.

In the end it would not matter, though. It never really did.

* * *

With her sixth year came an invitation from Draco that she could not resist, an escape and a chance to get out of the stagnation of her current life. Her parents were all too happy to accept as well, glad to be rid of Quinn it seemed but she hid how much it affected her, knowing that if they knew things would never be the same. Instead she let the excitement of returning to England take over, happy enough that it overshadowed everything else.

He met her at the entrance to Malfoy Manor, all charm and courtesy until they were inside. Only then did his mask fall, his expression transitioning from dazzling smile to stormy eyes and something she could not quite place.  It scared her but she did not dare to say that, did not dare to challenge the cousin she idolised so much.

“You’ve changed,” was all that he said as he led her to her room for the summer. That was it, really. Nothing more and nothing less than those two words, spoken in a crisp, succinct tone that broke no room for argument.

She wanted to swallow her pride, to beg him to face her, to tell her what she did to earn his disapprobation but she bit her tongue instead, kept her words to herself as she placed her things on the ground besides her, her owl fluttering immediately to the top of her wardrobe.

Draco surveyed it for a moment, his brow furrowed as he seemed to try to place it. After a while, he shook his head and turned to her.

“Eagle owl, huh?”

“Leave Apollo alone,” she said, handing a few treats up to the bird who took it, nipping her hand along the way. “I just got him so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about him.”

“Apollo? I didn’t know you were interested in Greek mythos.”

“I’m interested in a lot of things. Just because you didn’t care to find out doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

He held up his hands in surrender and retreated to the door. Before he left, however, he turned back to look at her one more time.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it but I enjoy your company more than other people’s. That’s why I   invited you here in the first place. We’ll work out our issues at another time but, for now, I need you to be perfect for me tonight. I’m having guests over.”

She shook her head. “Your issues, you mean, and don’t give me that crap about being perfect. It’s what I do now, remember?”

He did not reply.

* * *

When Draco had said guests, she had not known that he had meant the Granger woman or the Lopez clan. She was pleasantly surprised when she was formally introduced to the former, not expecting that sharp, intelligent gaze or the dry sarcasm with which she seemed to address her cousin at all times. However, the latter sent her into a moment of shock that was…unpleasant, to say the least.

Throughout dinner she and Santana sat in silence, both of them wanting to end the silence between them but neither wanting to be the one to break it. By this time, they barely spoke to each other and when they did, it was as if they were strangers

She certainly felt as if Santana was a stranger to her, beautiful and dark and familiar in the way   that an old acquaintance often was, but still alien to the person she was now. She wanted so badly for them to fit, for them to fall into old patterns, but it did not seem meant to be.

Eventually, the older folks left them alone in the dining room as dinner ended and she was forced to think of something, anything to say. Only, she was beaten to it when Santana spoke first.

“You stopped writing.”

“So did you.”

“Yes, but you barely wrote back anyway. What? Your fancy French school was too good for someone like me?”

“N-no.”

Santana looked at her appraisingly for a moment before turning away with a shake of her head.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. I should be anywhere but here, really. I mean, I had plans with Rachel but my parents had to drag me to this stupid dinner party thing. They don’t even like Granger or Malfoy.”

“Rachel?” she asked, ignoring the rest of Santana’s words in favour of that name, the one name that made her feel as if she had been stabbed with a thousand needles for some reason. “What about Rachel? I thought you didn’t like her.”

“Eh. The manic pixie’s grown on me.”

She lapsed into silence, not knowing what to say and Santana did not volunteer any more information. That was how the adults found them when they returned, brooding and quiet as can be.

After that evening, Santana's parents would become frequent visitors to the manor but she never did see Santana again for the rest of that summer.

* * *

The first step back onto Hogwarts ground was like a breath of fresh air, strangely refreshing in nature and everything she did not know she needed. It felt good to be back there, to be away from the pressure of her position at Beauxbatons and the expectations of her parents, to be somewhere where she could just be her.

As circumstances would have it, she was Sorted immediately into Slytherin with Santana but the girl refused to acknowledge her, refused to even look her way. It hurt but she forced it down, her mask having been perfected in the years since that first time here.

Instead, she took her seat on the opposite end of the table, the end that placed Rachel Berry right in her line of sight. She spent the evening trying and failing not to look at the girl, not to look at the way she had grown, had become prettier and more alluring to Quinn.

Only, she could not avert her gaze, could not forget the way Rachel had made her feel so long ago. It was one thing to pretend that she had forgotten when she was alone, away from Hogwarts and its temptations but now, with her here right in front of her, she could not forget, could not suppress things the way she was now accustomed to doing.

Nor could she forget that Rachel was somehow connected to Santana in some way that she did not know. She could not risk that, could not risk alienating the only real friend she had had any more than she had already done.

That night she lay in bed in the Slytherin dormitories, her mind on the girl a bed away from her, wondering how much she had changed. Occasionally, it would go up several floors to where she was sure Rachel was asleep to ponder on how much she still felt for the girl but, mostly, she thought about why and how her relationship with Santana had changed.

* * *

Morning brought her no answers and neither did the days that followed. What they did bring was more irritation, more annoyance with the girl who had been her closest friend and warmth that turned into longing for the one girl who was now beyond her reach.

Every day, she would watch as Rachel and Santana conversed, always careful in their interactions with one another, close enough to be suspicious but too careful in how they acted to attract attention from anyone but her. Draco told her she was being a paranoid twat but she dismissed his opinion for the first time in her life. He did not know Santana as she did, did not see the things she saw whenever she looked at them.

It drove her mad to see Rachel in her place, killed her with jealousy and anger, shame at not having pushed for anything with either one of them and guilt for allowing things to get this far. Her feelings twisted within her, poisoning her mind and causing her to act in ways she thought herself only capable of in the corner that was her recent life in France.

She was meaner now, more acute in her cruelty. Within a month, she had been dubbed the second coming of Malfoy and everyone looked at with either revulsion or fear. She was never as prejudiced as her cousin had been – everyone was free game, really – but that was because she did not need to be. She knew how to take a person’s weakness and turn it on them until she had torn them down, destroyed so thoroughly that they never dared to fight back.

It was as if the old her, the her she had been before her third year, had never been.

Things were bound to change, she knew that. She just could not predict the how or when.

* * *

It eventually happened when she found them in the Slytherin dorms during Christmas break, Santana’s mouth attached to a dark nipple as Rachel struggled not to moan. It was a sight to see, the normally put together Gryffindor lying on the bed with her shirt ripped open and bra askew as Santana hovered over her, tongue licking and flicking the bud as her hand worked the girl over somewhere out of sight.

She did not know when she came out of the sweet blankness that overwhelmed her then, only that when she did she found herself in the library, hidden away in a corner of the Transfiguration section. She had no idea as to whether or not the couple had noticed her, had no idea if they knew that she had seen them. All she knew was the crippling pain and rejection she felt, knowing that the friend she had come to love even in their long held silence was no longer hers and that she had lost her chance to even try with the only other person who held her heart.

Hours passed as she sat there, curled into herself as she tried and failed to forget everything she had seen. Santana, of course, was the one who found her, sitting next to her and lingering in silence for quite some time before, finally, speaking.

“She didn’t know about how you felt.”

“You did, though,” she said quietly, realising the implications of Santana’s statement. She turned to face her. “You knew how I felt.”

“Yeah. You never did make it obvious the first time around but there’s something in the way you look at her now that made me think, and I remembered that expression from before. Didn’t take me long to put it together, you know.”

“Why…? I thought you hated her.”

“For a while, I did. She grows on you, though, and eventually she broke you down until you can’t help but love her. I only asked her out a year ago.”

“A year…”

“Yeah. It was around the time we stopped talking. I was lonely and I needed someone.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Something’s not right though. It hasn’t been for a while and I just…we want to know something.”

“Know what?”

Santana did not answer. Instead, she leaned in close and kissed her, lips tasting of contraband Firewhiskey and something else, something she could not identify. She wanted to, though, and she pulled Santana to her, hands wrapped in her tie as she deepened the kiss, her tongue playing with Santana’s when it came out to play.

“Wow,” she said when they finally broke apart and Santana nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Come find us if you want to play. I can guarantee you that Rachel is just as good as I am. We’ll be waiting Fabray.”

Quinn did not say anything, too dazed as she watched Santana walk away to reply.


End file.
